Unspoken Corners

The doorbell chimes, signaling the arrival I anticipated, yet not the visitor I yearn for.

“Good afternoon, maam. We've brought your office desk.”

I clench my jaw, responding, “Excellent. Please bring it in this way.”

Two robust men lift the first box, strategically maneuvering up the narrow staircase behind me. Passing our bedroom, I indicate the compact corner room. Droplets of sweat cascade down their foreheads as they navigate. I remain outside as they gently place the box against the wall.

“Quite the heat out there,” one of the men remarks to me.

Ah, the awkward realm of small talk.

“Yes, indeed,” I reply with a nod. “Have you had a busy day with deliveries?”

“Absolutely,” he grins. “Post-spring cleaning, folks are eager to fill up the empty spaces.”

I wince, hoping my reaction went unnoticed. The second box is carried up while the chatter continues.

“Need any assistance with assembly, ma’am? Your premium membership covers it.”

Although Raj would probably suggest I accept, his absence at the moment leads me to decline. The two men secure themselves within their truck and assure me the next delivery is scheduled for tomorrow morning. Splendid.

I manage to recenter my thoughts and resume my work at the kitchen table. At a quarter past six, the sound of Raj's car pulling up reaches my ears. He pokes his head into the kitchen and gives a friendly wave.

He greets me with a kiss. “Did the desk arrive today?”

I confirm with a nod but don't follow him when he goes to inspect it. He returns downstairs.

“You didn’t have them assemble it?”

I offer a nonchalant shrug.

“We can arrange that for tomorrow,” Raj suggests. “I've ordered three sizable bookcases for our library.”

He continues discussing his plans for the office space, while in a sudden, thoughtless haze, I grasp my water glass and shatter it against the floor.

“Tanya!” he exclaims, his mouth agape. I've never reacted like this before.

“Why don't you care?” I lash out. “She's gone, and all you can think about is how to replace what remains of her!”

Raj makes an attempt to approach me, but I shove him away.

“That's unfair, Tanya,” he asserts. “Nothing can replace her.”

“Then why are we transforming our daughter's room into an office?”

It deeply unsettled me that Raj could find slumber so effortlessly after her passing. My mind persisted in questioning if Bea's death was a relief to him. Memories resurfaced of how Raj fervently resisted his Indian, family-centric culture when we initially met.

While Bea might have taken me by surprise, I harbored suspicions that her existence had been an accident to him.

“I will never use that office,” I seethe.

“We have to move forward,” Raj implores. “It's harder to keep moving ahead when we continue to see Bea's room as it was. I cling to the hope that she'll walk through that doorway with her little backpack and red shoes. But she won't.”

“I don’t want 'Bea's room' to be designated as 'the office'. I want to see her toys, feel her clothes, and know that she's still here with us.”

Finding a middle ground feels genuinely elusive.

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